


Ficlet: Sonata

by FogOfWar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave, Canon Universe, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, M/M, Piano, Romance, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Season/Series 08, Wing Kink, castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FogOfWar/pseuds/FogOfWar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel curled his fingers into the dusty white sheet and pulled it gently, the fabric whispering in a hush with the movement as it spilled like milk off the form of the aged and withered piano underneath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ficlet: Sonata

**Author's Note:**

> [ **[tumblr](http://thefogofwar.tumblr.com/post/48852715998) & [podfic of my work read by Tenoko1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/778583)** ]

It was midnight at headquarters, the Bat Cave quiet aside from the soft crackling hum of an old record playing a classical 50's tune in the main hall. Dean's earbuds were in. He wasn't very quick to acclimate himself to the abomination that had been Sam's mp3 player, but once his brother got him one already preloaded with some of his favorites, it had grown on him. Led Zepplin was drumming loudly against his eardrums, the toe of one booted foot thumping to the beat from the perch of crossed ankles that were atop the surface of one of the desks of the main hall. The little device glowed in the breast pocket of his gray plaid oxford. He swiped the pad of his thumb with his tongue before he gingerly flipped an ancient yellowed page from a leather-bound book on Acheri demons dating back to 1834. It was just the first in the alphabetical long list of books Sam and him were browsing, tapping into the thousands of years worth of chronicled information - Monsters, demons, gods, and everything in between from A to Z.

As his eyes were skimming one of the passages, over the beat of classic rock in his ear, he began to hear the lilting sound of a third piece of music snaking its way through the rooms and corridors of the lavish, albeit bunker-styled base. And it wasn't the scratchy notes from the record. Dean lifted his head with a squint, gazing ahead blankly for a moment before he pulled the silk bookmark into place and folded the thick book closed. One digit hooked around the cord of his earbuds, pulling out the left one as he leaned back in his chair and listened to the notes of a nondescript piece of piano. It was somewhat haunting, in a way, the way it quietly echoed against the smooth walls. The tune was slow and deliberate. Odd. Someone was playing, but neither he nor Sam knew how to play (or would - well, maybe Sam, but Dean was more of a guitar and drums kind of guy). That only left one person.

Pulling out his other earbud, he turned off his mp3 player and dropped heavy boots to the floor, pushing himself back so that he could go and investigate. The problem was, was that he wasn't entirely sure where it was coming from. He didn't even know they _had_ a piano, though it didn't really surprise him; this place was full of antique stuff and rooms they hadn't even begun to dig into yet. So far they'd set up their bedrooms, the main hall, and the indoor gun range, but that was it. There were at least half a dozen other rooms.

Sam stuck his head out of the bathroom, a billow of steam seeping out into the narrow corridor as he passed it on his search. "Hey, what's that? Not you?" the taller and very much soaking wet brother asked, peering down the quiet hallway of the western wing of the underground base with his long auburn hair plastered to his flushed features.

"Do I look like someone that'd play the piano?" the hunter countered, squinting at his half-nude brother that was hanging out of the partially opened door. "Cas?" Sam asked.

Dean only shrugged. "I didn't even know we had a piano."

Sam stuck a wet, too-long arm out the door gesturing down the corridor. "The very last room on the left. There's a lot of old furniture that still has sheets tossed over 'em."

Things had been quiet lately in the figurative sense, since Cas had decided he wanted to stay with them. To be more exact, Cas had said he wanted to stay with _Dean_ , but the blonde hunter hadn't let himself dwell too much on that particular verbiage. Of course he had said yes. Of course he and Sam both had said it was okay with them. Castiel didn't have a home to call his own any more; not after being disconnected from Heaven - he hadn't called Heaven home or utilized it as such ever since he went crazy. It was strange to think that an _angel_ could be homeless, but Castiel was certainly that since he was spending 90% of his time on Earth, and most of that was with the Winchester brothers. There was no one else that Castiel could call a _friend_ , so it was natural that he want to become Sam and Dean's room mate.

It had been surprisingly easy for them to adjust to - not that Castiel wasn't an outstandingly odd individual that did outstandingly odd things, but Cas was extremely adaptive. He learned. The first night for him, the angel had stood awkwardly next to Dean's bed as the hunter slept till the sensation of eyes on him and another presence had jerked Dean awake. He'd reprimanded him and gave him a curfew - when the brothers go to bed, Castiel's job wasn't to stand there and 'watch over them' (the Bat Cave was relatively safe, after all). It was to go to his own bedroom and, Dean's exact words had been along the lines of, ' _I dunno man, lay there and... rest. You don't always have to stand and stare at things_.' Cas, for the most part, seemed to oblige.

He was fairly certain Castiel still mojo'd his way into their bedrooms to watch over them for a little while. If Cas were human, it'd be creepy, but since he wasn't, Dean had for the most part accepted it was a natural inclination for the angel. Granted, it still unnerved him, but he'd learned to deal with it and the creepy factor. At least now he probably did it in a way that didn't wake Dean up by bothering his spidey senses.

When Dean had reached the end of the hall, the door stood slightly ajar and he gently pushed it open with a knuckle, poking his head inside the dark room that still smelled of years old dust, like an old and forgotten attic.

Castiel sat at the antique leather bench before a large, dark maple wood piano, illuminated by a single desk lamp, emanating a dim golden light from a nearby table. Stone-washed jeans rode low on his narrow hips, exposing the dark satin navy blue line of his boxers beneath the hem of his simple cornflower blue t-shirt and a sliver of milk-white skin. Ever since Dean had taken him clothes shopping and carelessly mentioned blue looked good on him, he took to wearing it frequently around the Bat Cave, though the moment they left in tandem, he donned the trademark trench coat again.  
Quietly he nudged the door back closed behind him, and though he was certain Cas was aware of his presence, the seraph didn't stop playing to speak. His long fingers rolled over the keys, lingering on a few as a bare foot framed in worn out pants cuffs lightly tapped a pedal underneath the instrument to change the tune.

"I didn't know you could play the piano," Dean ventured, arms coming up in a loose relaxed fold across his chest. His gaze passed over the various different silhouetted shapes of furniture and artifacts that were draped with dusty aged sheets in the small room before green eyes found their way back to Cas' back.

Castiel's ring finger lingered on a yellowed ivory key, a note hanging in the air before he glanced over his shoulder to peer at the blonde hunter standing next to the door. "I can play any human instrument," he responded vaguely, his tone the same deadpan gravel, but somehow hinting that maybe that was common sense. Returning his attention to the antiquated piano, the sole of his left foot pressed into another cold pedal while Dean dropped his arms and approached him, stepping over a few pieces of covered up furniture to reach his side. He leaned a hip against the side of the instrument that was probably older than he was and watched as sure enough, Cas' fingers worked over the keys just as expertly as any child prodigy. "That so? So, if I happen t'say: Hey Cas, can you play a... _Mandolin_ or something, you'd be able to just pick it up and play it?"

"Some of the first 'prototypes' - if you will - of Mandolins came from Mesopotamia around 2000 BC. They aren't much different than many of man's first invented musical instruments, but music started sounding much nicer when the Homosapiens stopped trying to play instruments with their mouths and used their hands."  
There was a pause as Dean's brows lifted in unison and he tried to absorb the breadth of what just came out of Castiel's mouth.

It was easy to forget that this was not a _man_ sitting in this little room nonchalantly playing the piano. This was an incredibly, unfathomably old divine creature. So old it defied logic, older than what he could even begin to wrap his mind around. "The answer would be yes," Cas finished, fingers becoming motionless on the keys of the piano. His hands slid off them and folded neatly in his lap as he quirked a dark brow at Dean.

Dean cleared his throat, gesturing with a callused thumb to the keys, "I didn't recognize what you were playin'. Wasn't like... Moonlight Sonata or anything, but that's the only one I really know. Don't know much about classical stuff. That's more Sam's taste."

"No, I don't suppose you would. It's Baroque, early 1700's. Classical didn't start till later that century. It's a piece by Domenico Scarlatti. [Sonata in F Minor](http://youtu.be/k77yDXEOSQY)*, to be exact. I guess he isn't very 'famous'." Castiel responded smoothly as Dean's denim-clad hips jutted backwards when he leaned his elbows onto the ledge of the piano who whispered its age by groaning from the weight. His head was cocked and he was quietly watching the seraph with a curiosity in his eyes that he couldn't begin to disguise. "I don't know what any of those words mean, but it sounded nice. It's not really my taste so take it as a compliment, I guess."

There was a ghost of a brief smile on Castiel's lips and he nodded, head remaining inclined slightly as he gazed at the keys. He still hadn't become accustomed to responding in a socially 'acceptable' way to compliments, but Dean was patient with him, if even quite a bit teasing at times.

Then, the angel scooted over on the bench to free up half of it. He gestured with an open palm to the space. "Join me." His tone was gentle, but left no room for argument. Dean wouldn't necessarily call Castiel _pushy_ , but when he made commands, he expected them to be followed. It was that whole 'Soldier of Heaven' thing, he supposed. Dean could relate, not being a far cry from a military man himself, though certainly in more human terms. So usually (at least with trivial matters) he didn't argue when Cas told him to do something, and obeyed.

Dean slid onto the bench, a little wary at first that it might not support both their weight, but it didn't complain much. "I can't play the piano, Cas." His green eyes passed over Castiel's hands that were lightly resting on the keys again, all elastic tendon and thin bony knuckle. His hands were very androgynous and elegant - not like Dean's hands. He had callused weapon-wielding muscular hands. "I don't have the paws for it like you do."

"Nonsense," Castiel said simply, reaching to slide his startlingly cold palm over the surface of Dean's left hand. He guided it to rest atop the keys, his fingers gently maneuvering between the hunters' scarred knuckles to place his fingers on the appropriate keys. Placing his middle finger atop the other man's own, he guided him to press down the key a few times before softly maneuvering skilled digits between Dean's fingers, puppeteering them nimbly to softly hit the right keys to play the beginning of Bach's [Adagio in D Minor](http://youtu.be/YeajX_E5qrI)*. Those blue eyes that seemed to permanently have an odd luminescence about them were trained on the keys as he brought his second hand up to complete the body of the mellow harmony on the lower set, the toe of his bare left foot tapping one of the pedals. After a moment, those sapphires lifted and gazed at Dean's own features that were transfixed on the effortlessly graceful way Castiel moved his hand for him - his hands that couldn't be further from graceful on their own unless he was handling the heel of a pistol.

The angels' dark lashes were low and when Dean felt that gaze on him, he lifted his own to meet it. "Is this... the kind of music you like, Cas?" All Dean really was familiar with was classic rock, and he'd acquired that from his Dad. That wasn't to say he really hated every other type of music, just most. But classical or.. baroque or whatever it was? He couldn't say he'd ever really given it a shot or been all that exposed to it. He'd deemed it as too yuppie for him, but hearing it come from Castiel's fingertips created a warmth that pooled in his belly. It sounded... well - it sounded _beautiful_. Something about it sounded so archaic - something  he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something... timeless. Just like the creature playing it.

"I like most music Dean, regardless of what it's like. Because ultimately, _music_ is the poetry of my Father, transliterated through his magnificent little creations - _you_. A humans' ability to create melody is nothing but divine. It's just the more revolutionary pieces of music, pieces like this that changed the course of man's history, that are closest to the surface of my mind," the angel said, the baritone roughness of his voice somehow softer with the fond reflection.

If it wasn't for it being a _moment_ , Dean would be inclined to bark a laugh and disagree. There was a lot of noise out there - like all of that boyband bullshit and... Britney Spears, but he supposed Castiel was unbiased, able to appreciate all forms of music, even if Dean could disagree that some of those forms _were_ music. But he bit his tongue, remaining silent for a beat to listen to the hundreds year old melody that Cas was guiding his fingers to play with fluid grace. He then smirked, chuckling under his breath and shaking his head slightly in disbelief as the gravity of Cas' words settled in his brain. The angel quirked a brow at him, "Why're you laughing?"

Dean halted the movement of their twined hands, scarred and rough fingers wrapping around Castiel's hand, the heat of his own skin warming the angels' cooler flesh as he gently squeezed his palm. Looking back to the seraph, he shook his head with a crooked smirk. "Nothin', no reason. You're just - you know, just something else."

Castiel cocked his head to the side, that familiar innocent head tilt he'd get whenever he was perplexed about something. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted, puzzled. "Yes, Dean, I'm an angel," he responded, a hundred percent serious in the now quiet and barely lit room. The sincere candor of the words earned a further softening of Dean's scruffy features, emerald eyes warming that were often far too cold from too many years of personal war. He turned slightly on the bench, their denim-clad knees brushing as he brought his other arm up, clasping a warm palm to the side of Castiel's face, thumb brushing the stubble at his jaw. The touch was deliberate and meaningful. "You are," he said softly between them, gruff voice low as Castiel looked impossibly more befuddled. Dean gave another careful squeeze of Cas' hand in his own as his other lured the angel in close enough to brush his lips against the other pair.

There was a whisper of unseen wings rustling as Castiel made an odd noise in the pit of his throat, a quiet hitch of breath. Dean's other hand untangled from Castiel's and he lifted it to clasp to the opposite side of the seraph's features, framing them in both warm, rough palms. His eyes had fallen closed, heavy veils of dark lashes resting against freckled cheekbones, those of which Castiel was gazing at intently. He watched the slight crease of a furrow between Dean's brows, the faintest flutter of his eyelids, felt his warm breath sweep across the plane of his cheekbone. The angel relaxed, inexplicably soothed as Dean tasted the seam of his lips with chaste brushes of just the tip of his tongue. When he parted them, the hunter took the invite, dipping into the depth of Castiel's mouth that was lukewarm, tasting of something he couldn't quite name, his breath smelling of something soft and pleasant. The taste and scent of him was light and airy, like the wispy paint brushed clouds in the stratosphere and water from a trickling mountain stream - all pure and simple and nothing human.

Dean dug the heel of his weathered boot against the wooden floor to slowly push out the bench before he slid one arm down, skirting it along the length of Castiel's flank, thumbing the tail of his pale blue shirt before he gripped the seat of his jeans and lured the angel across his lap, helping him to straddle his hips, knees perched neatly to either side of them on the bench. Their lips didn't pull apart, Castiel adjusting accordingly and sitting down astride his pelvis with all the cooperative dexterity of a trapeze artist. Dean moaned, husky and low into Castiel's mouth as the angel reciprocated in a lazy wrestle. No rush. Each movement deliberate and indulging. Kissing Dean was a different experience entirely for the angel - one he appreciated and took very slow. Because Dean tasted raw - hormones and minerals and chemicals, all of which Castiel could name in detail. It was so utterly _human_ and earthy - the way he could feel Dean's pulse in his lips and feel his breath, hot and damp on his face.

Both of Castiel's hands delved into the cropped dirty blonde tresses of Dean's scalp, digging blunt fingernails against them as he gripped what he could, pulling Dean's head back some so the hollow of his sun-tanned neck arched outward at an angle. His lips were replaced with his own surprised intake of breath as Castiel bent his head down to close his mouth, warmed and wet against his pulse at his throat that had been coloured almost caramel from the hours beneath the sun, working on the Impala that past weekend. Dean licked the mix of their saliva off his kiss-puffy lips as he draped arms heavily around the other man's narrow hips, thumbs hooking into his tight back pockets. With eyes half-mast, he gazed up at the dark cobwebbed ceiling as Castiel lingered at his pulse, feeling the rhythmic thump of life against his lips. He sucked it, gentle, but enough to sting and leave a scarlet stain that had Dean's lashes fluttering and his eyes rolling back into his skull. " _Cas_..."

The seraph's lips traveled their way back up to Dean's lips, brushing the scratch of his stubble before he reached them. His fingers steepled against the back of his head, cradling it as he met those lips once again that moaned softly against his mouth. The hunter tasted along the grooves of the angel's symmetrical molars as his hands slid up underneath the tail of his t-shirt, riding the light fabric upwards along Cas' slender torso; his fingers snaked up the dips of muscles in his lean back, following them in their incline and mapping each one out with attention to every subtle detail. He reached the delicate crevices of his flexing shoulderblades as the other man tousled the sculpt of his blonde hair with roaming fingertips, and when his blunt callused fingertips dug into the ridges of the bone, drawing downward half an inch in a wanton scrape, the angel gasped curtly against his lips, another rustle from something unseen.

There was a loud popping sound in the far corner and a flash of blue, then pitch darkness as the lamp on the desk blew out, shatters of dusty lightbulb lying around the base on the surface of the old table. Dean was suddenly still and silent, his heartbeat pounding from the startle in a ricochet against his sternum as he gazed blindly up at the angel, barely able to catch a glimpse of those blue eyes, and the luminescent grace within that you could only truly see in dead dark.

"I... I'm sorry," he heard Cas say awkwardly, his voice rougher than it usually was, frayed. Then Dean grinned in the darkness with bemusement, leaning forward against the angel to notch his chin against the top of his shoulder. He nuzzled his face into the side of his neck adoringly, relaxing again as he breathed him in. "Shh - it's fine," he said softly against the skin. He was content to just sit here in the quiet pitch dark with him, just for a few minutes longer. His fingers pressed into the ridges of his shoulderblades, tracing the shape of the bone, undoubtedly at the root of those wings his human eyes were unable to see. The blunt tips of his nails scratched gently as he kneaded, earning a sound out of Castiel he'd never heard before. It was a shaken, trembling gasp, followed by a moan that was so hoarse and guttural, it almost sounded like a growl. It very nearly didn't sound human.

Castiel's muscles tensed and relaxed, repeating the motion as Dean's fingers softly massaged where his wings began. Feathers whispered, a rustle like silk sheets sliding together. His arms curtained around his neck as he bent over him, burying his face against the messy short blonde hair, breathing in the masculine spice of Dean's shampoo as he tightened all over, muscles releasing again in a shudder with his muffled groan. In the dark, massive wings partially expanded, his tingling shoulderblades rolling forward as the muscular black arches drew inward and he curtained himself and the hunter in the cloak of them. He was... strangely dizzy as Dean chuckled huskily against that little dip at the crook of his neck, the hunter able to sense, though he'd never be able to explain how, that he was in an enclosed space now. The way their breath got warmer, more confined between them, the distant soft hum of the record playing in the main hall now even more quiet. Castiel enveloped them both in shivering wings.

Dean slid his arms then around Castiel's waist entirely, overlapping muscular forearms and cinching the seraph tight against him as the other man settled his weight entirely against his lap. " _Really something else_..." he mused between them in the quiet as Cas tilted his head, resting his stubbled chin atop Dean's hair, blue eyes closed.

"Think maybe you could give me lessons then?" Dean asked, his bass tenor still barely over a whisper as Castiel felt the warm flush of breath with the words against his neck. He arched a brow in the darkness, the tips of his fingers tracing comfortably at his shoulder along one of the stitched seams in Dean's plaid over-shirt. He listened to the blonde breathe, paying mind to the gentle sensation of his broad chest rising and falling against his upper abs in their relaxed position.

After a moment, Dean could hear the slight smile in Castiel's recovered tone.

"Of course."


End file.
